


It's Rude to Stare

by fandomnerd



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomnerd/pseuds/fandomnerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes track you down the hallway, burning through your clothes, leaving you bare and naked even though it's winter and you're wearing three layers of clothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Rude to Stare

**Author's Note:**

> I had a spark of random inspiration. I don't even know what this is--just random femslash original fic for you guys, I guess. It's unedited and I wrote it in like an hour, so be warned.

She stares.

Her eyes track you down the hallway, burning through your clothes, leaving you bare and naked even though it's winter and you're wearing three layers of clothing. Her gaze alights something in you, something you've never felt in your whole 17 years of existing--not even your boyfriends have managed to create this heat that starts low in your belly and rises, as heat is wont to do, up into your chest and then your head, making your face flush and your mind fuzzy.

You don't even know her name.

She's not the type you'd usually notice; in fact she seems mostly average, not even sticking out in that cliched high school drama way. She's not a loner or an outcast, doesn't smoke cigarettes or have multiple piercings. She sits in the middle of the classroom and doesn't sleep in class, doesn't stay totally quiet but doesn't raise her hand often, either. And she's not especially beautiful--straight dirty blonde hair falling to her shoulders in choppy layers, hazel eyes, pale skin. Not especially tall or curvy.

(You, of course, don't notice these things until you notice her watching you. Then you become nearly obsessed with finding out everything you can about her. Not that anyone else really knows anything about her, either.)

She's not particularly special, and yet. It starts off small, with the little things. The heat blossoming in your stomach, spreading through your veins like wildfire, making you squirm in your seat in your 4th period History class. She can see you more easily than you can see her; your seat is in the front row, hers is in the third. But you figure it out, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye at every opportunity, checking to see if she's looking at you. When your eyes connect it feels almost as if you've been stung by static electricity. Her lips (plump, wide, very kissable, you can't help but notice) turn up ever so slightly at the corners. Heat rushes to your face and you turn your head, staring at the blackboard intently for the rest of class, trying to ignore the feeling that she is laughing at you, and trying even harder to deny to yourself that you want to know what that laughter sounds like.

You want to approach her after class, but when you look around for her, she's already gone. You, of course, take this as a personal affront 

You listen especially hard for her name the next time you share a class with her. _Kelly Tyler_. The name suits her--forgettable at first glance, but distinctive once it's caught your interest. You then have a friend of yours, a comp-sci nerd with a habit of hacking into the school computers (mostly for amusement, sometimes for money) find her schedule and print it out for you.

She has a free period during your lunch, and her class before that is down the hall from yours. Perfect.

You wait a few days before you approach her. Her staring only grows bolder--her eyes trace your profile, the length of your neck, the curve of your breast. The heat she leaves behind caresses you, raising goosebumps on your arms and making you cross your legs, trying to relieve this sudden ache. Finally, after weeks of this torture, this mounting, unrelieved tension, you make your move.

You rush out of your 6th period English class as soon as the bell rings and all but sprint down the hall, waiting by the door of the classroom she should be exiting. Half a minute later, she walks out the door. You grab her wrist without thinking (she has such soft skin), and she turns, notices you. Her entire face shifts, eyes widening, lips curving into a smirk. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, and you bite your lip in response, heat flooding through your body. You turn and start walking toward the nearest bathroom, without saying a word. Somewhere along the way, her hand turns, fingers tangling with your own. You bite down a shy smile, even though you know she can't see your face.

As soon as you're in the bathroom, you turn on her, letting go of her hand. She leans back against the tiled wall, facing the mirrors, while you face her with folded arms. "You've been staring at me."

She smirks, shrugs. "Yeah, and you've been staring back at me."

You sputter, but it's true. You've become more than a little obsessed, lately. "You were staring at me first, though."

"Well, you're very nice to look at."

Heat floods to your face, and you have no response. Except, "I'm not gay."

She cocks an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything. Your words ring hollowly in your ears, and you know that they're a lie. You've known that they were a lie for a while.

"You're gonna make me make the first move here, aren't you?" You finally sigh, rolling your eyes. You feel like you know her already, even though this is the first conversation you've ever had.

"Fair's fair, after all," she says, and you kind of hate her, except you really, really don't.

The next thing you know, you're pushing her against the wall, one hand cupping the side of her face and the other on her waist, and you're kissing, and her lips are softer than you ever imagined (not that you've imagined kissing her a lot...okay, no more than a dozen times, really), and her breath smells like cinnamon and chocolate. You hadn't realized it before, but you're about two inches taller than her, and it's actually rather charming, and _oh_ her hand is tangled in your hair and _tugging_ and wow that feels good. She tangles her other hand with yours, the one that's cupping her cheek, and you pull back for air.

She's smiling _brilliantly_ , eyes alight, and you don't understand how you ever saw her as anything other than stunning.

You kiss for a while longer, until she says, "the period's probably almost over--someone's bound to walk in soon."

You pull back, eyes widening. You hadn't even thought of that, which is unlike you. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Sorry."

She grins. "Don't be sorry," she says, a glint in your eye you haven't learned to read yet (but you want to--you want to know everything about her), and holds up your cellphone. Your mouth drops open--you hadn't even felt her hand go near your pocket. While you're gaping, she enters her number into your contacts, slips it back into your back pocket, and squeezes your ass just because she can. You narrow your eyes, but she kisses you again, and you can _feel_ your face turn dreamy and stupid. "I gave you my number. Text me so I can have yours, too."

And just like that, she saunters out of the bathroom, your eyes tracking her movements the whole way.


End file.
